The Truth
by damigella
Summary: Starts directly after the end of S7E8. Second person, Wilson's POV. New version thanks to fantastic beta reader yarroway: the first five chapters have been modified! Nine chapters total.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Truth 1/9  
Author: damigella  
Spoilers: Fic starts at the end of S7E8  
Warning: Slash, eventually. Adult themes.  
Rating: NC-17 (M)  
Word count: 900 approx.  
Disclaimer: don't own anything, except my hope.  
Summary: Second person, Wilson's POV. Starts when Sam leaves and House refuses to spend time with Wilson because he's expecting Cuddy. We follow Wilson home, and it all goes AU.  
Author's note: This started appearing as non beta'ed on fanfiction. Any merit you find in this new version is due to my totally awesome beta reader yarroway. It is now complete and will appear regularly.

* * *

You're sitting on the couch of your condo, with your head in your hands. You've cried for... what is it, two hours? more or less without a break. You've cried about the recent breakup, about Amber's death, about all three divorces. And about having to go through this alone. Where alone means, of course, without House. You wonder how on earth you're going to survive this while keeping functional at work.

You're still yourself: you clean and tidy until everything looks ready for a photo shoot. Then you have a shower and you go to bed. After an hour of tossing and turning you come to a decision, and then you finally fall asleep.

* * *

"Lunch today?"

"No, I'm meeting Cuddy. Maybe you could bring me a coffee now? If I want to keep her happy I have to get rid of the paperwork backlog."

Neither of you doubts the fact that if he's lunching with Cuddy you shouldn't be there. "Sure."

"What about a short break?" you ask five minutes later, as you put two fragrant coffee cups and a plate with two donuts on the table between you, careful not to stain the manila folders strewn everywhere.

"It's a good idea. I'll go crazy if I don't."

"Funny, that's precisely what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Paperwork?" House's eyebrows have raised half an inch, while he starts eating the second donut.

"No. The fact that something has got to change in my life or I'll go crazy myself."

"Is it really time for New Year's resolutions? And if so, why should I be interested in yours?"

"Because you're involved. Some of it I can do myself: no sex and no booze until my head starts working properly again."

House's snarky expression disappears immediately, and is replaced by evident concern. He silently looks at you, than drops his eyes.

"I need you as my primary physician. I want a psychologist referral. I need therapy."

"Are you sure? You're just getting over being dumped. You would think you'd get used to it, but even if you don't it will soon go away and you'll date someone else."

"That's precisely what I don't want! I screwed up all my relationship so far. Every single one. Fast. I want to stop this. Sex and booze make me do stupid things. The pain is too much. It's not worth it."

House looks at you. His eyes go all over you, obviously noticing the messy hair, tired eyes, unironed shirt, skew tie.

"Ok. I'll write you a referral." He sounds uncertain. "I'm sorry about yesterday evening. Is this why you need a shrink? Because I wasn't there for you?"

"Yes. That is, no. I'm not a boy, I'm over forty. I shouldn't need takeout and booze with you to face my life. You straightened yourself out. I should do the same."

House nods and hands you the scrip. You smile briefly and leave, bringing away the empty cups.

* * *

PPTH's excellent psychology services have given you an appointment with Dr. John Lassiter for the next day. He looks about ten years older than you, short, balding, with a salt-and-pepper well-groomed beard and a contagious smile. He doesn't smile while he listens to you, though. He asks many questions. And more questions. He tells you that your idea of celibacy seems very reasonable, and that you shouldn't quit alcohol altogether but limit it: no more than two drinks per day, only beer or wine. He also puts you on a schedule of two appointments per week.

* * *

"So how's therapy going?"

"..."

"Sorry, I thought you always want to talk about everything. But if you're discussing your sex history of course you wouldn't want to talk about it. Must be boring as hell."

You smile weakly. "You're not so far from the truth, actually. Dr Lassiter said we haven't found the real root of the problem yet. How about you? It seems you and Cuddy are doing very well together. I'm happy for you."

It doesn't sound as convincing as you hoped to, and House frowns a bit.  
"Could be worse. I'm even starting to get used to the brat."

"She's a cute girl."

"She still chews on anything small enough to fit in her mouth, and speaks about as well as a demented parrot. Still, I'm getting used to her. And conversely."

"Do you have any time to spend with me over the weekend?"

"I don't think so. We're redecorating Rachel's room, and afterwards we've booked a sitter. For the whole night."

"Good for the two of you. Say hi to Cuddy." You leave, without waiting for a dismissal. House looks after you, his mouth pursed, thinking.

* * *

The fourth therapy session lasted three hours. Most of it spent not speaking but crying. Lassiter ferreted the truth out of you. You're in love with House, and have been for a long time. Years not months. For the first time he gives you sleeping pills. They don't work. You cry through most of the night. You're too tired go to work in the morning, and you call in sick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note**: This a revised version. Any merit you find in this is due to my totally awesome beta reader **yarroway.

* * *

**

"Hi! Glad to see you're finally back. What brings you to Princeton?"

"I just was sick last Friday, House. One day."

"Sick as in what? Gastrointestinal virus? Severe hangover? STD testing? I knew you wouldn't be able to keep your New Year's resolutions. At least I hope you're not contagious, for the sake of all the bald children you're treating."

"Sick as in none of your business, House. And no, I'm not contagious. At least that's my psychologist's take on it."

You leave, surprised that House doesn't have a mocking answer ready. Maybe he's concerned for you. The idea is ludicrous and you forget it.

* * *

"Fitting three sessions per week required major rescheduling. My secretary's gonna hate me."

"I really think it's necessary, James. It seems you've opened a big can of worms."

"Is bisexuality such a big problem?" Your voice sounds more worried than you like. It almost doesn't sound at all, actually, when the big "b" word comes up.

"No, not really. The problem is whatever it is that keeps you from noticing that you love somebody. Whom you see at work every day for more than a decade."

"I don't love House! I just am a friend of his. I just, uh, like to look at his hands. You know, he has these really beautiful fingers. Long and thin and strong. The right palm is all callous from the cane, but the skin on the upper side of the fingers looks silky. It's covered by tiny blond hair. And his fingernail shape's so beautiful. You should see him when he plays the piano. When we were living together, he used to play for me occasionally. Said it was like giving Martinis to a pig as I couldn't really appreciate properly but he did it anyway."

Lassiter hands you the big box of tissues, and waits patiently until you collect yourself.

"What would you like to do if you could touch House's hands?"

"I don't know. Maybe I could just have one hand to hold between mine. I could turn it palm out and follow all the folds with my fingers. And then... well then I would like to kiss the line where the fingers connect to the hand. And hope to feel him shiver."

"Why are you crying again?"

"This is just so sick. I'm ashamed of myself."

"Ok James, let's go through this again. What is shameful in desiring physical contact with a person you care for?"

"He's my friend and he's a man. He would punch my face in if he knew what I feel."

"Not a very friendly thing to do. If a man made a pass at you would you punch him?"

"No, of course not. It used to happen when I was a college student. I politely refused but I never hit anyone."

"So why would House treat you worse than you treated strangers?"

"I don't know. Maybe he would just tease me."

"Did you tease men making passes at you?"

"No, of course not. They were mistaken, but they just wanted mutual pleasure. Why should I be offended or angry?"

"Why indeed. So you're totally sure that there's nothing wrong in a man holding hands with another one? Kissing?"

"Well, it's ok if they're gay. But I'm not gay. I've had three wives. "

"Which brings us back to step one. Why does bisexuality frighten you so much?"

"I... I just don't want to be bisexual! As a senior in college, my next door neighbor was gay. He explained to me that 'bi' just means closeted. And the reason I hooked up with my second wife at all was precisely as a rebound relationship because her previous boyfriend had left her for another man. It destroyed her. She was 23 and felt like a total failure."

"And it would have been better if he had dumped her for a woman? Were your wives minding your infidelities less because they were with women?"

You don't know what to say. You stay silent.

* * *

"Welcome back James. Today I want you to remember when you first started feeling you may not be straight. As a teenager or so."

"I didn't! I was completely straight! I was masturbating to my older brother's Playboy before my bar mitzvah!"

"Nobody every suggested you may be gay?"

"You mean, like kids at school?" You so don't want to think back of that time. "Well, in high school I had this friend, Peter. We both liked running more than playing hockey, so in the summer we went for long runs, and in winter we went cross country skiing together."

"Did you find him attractive?"

"No. He... mentioned that he couldn't understand how come I didn't have a girlfriend to spend time with, since I was so cute." You blush. "I just preferred spending time with him. We liked the same books and in our final year played in the school theatre production. The two main roles in The importance of being Earnest." You stop, hoping that what you said is enough. You know it isn't.

"Some schoolmates found out I kept a photo of the two of us in my wallet. They teased us. Then they ambushed me and beat me up. And then... then they let my parents know."

"What did your parents say?"

"That they had heard this most incredible story. That they knew it couldn't possibly be true, because I wasn't that kind of shit, but still I should stop seeing Peter. Stop running. Stop reading... sissy books. Start playing football and hockey."

"What was your answer?"

"I stopped seeing Peter out of school. I hid my books. I hid our photo. I went running alone, in the gym. I also trained and became more muscular. And then luckily I went off to college."

The tears are running down freely and have been for about ten minutes. It seems to happen during every therapy session recently.

* * *

"So when do we go today, Dr Lassiter? Where in my past?"

"I think we're done with your past for the moment, James. I think it's time to take what we learned and use it for the present, and more importantly for the future."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me start with a simple question. If House were free and interested in you, what kind of physical contact would you want to have with him?"

The pause is longer than usual. "I don't know. I basically have only a very vague idea of what it is that two men in love do together."

"Well, a lot of it doesn't depend on the gender of the people involved. Would you like to kiss him? Hold his hand? Hug?"

Images start filling up your imagination. Dreams you had tried hard to forget. You take your face in your hands and start crying desperately. Dr Lassiter waits patiently, like the mother of a sick child. "I would want to sleep with him. As in, spend the night. Fall asleep and feel his body near mine. His breathing. His tousled hair on the pillow near mine. " You seem to be able to talk through your tears.

"I take it you never had any sex with another man? Not even another man touching you sexually or vice versa?"

"No, not at all. I got offers but I refused them all. I never even saw a movie that had gay sex in it."

"Do the possibilities of male on male sex worry you?"

"Well, there's the whole mouth-penis contact thing which is... weird."

"Is it weird when a woman does it to you?"

"No, of course not. But I'm not a woman."

"Sure, but there's no gender differences in human mouths. You're a doctor, you should know that."

"And then there's..." you pause briefly "anal sex. I never tried it with any of my girlfriends and wives, although one of them wanted me to, but I refused. I felt she was some kind of pervert."

"Ok, I'll schedule you for additional meetings with a sex therapist. Is there any religious background I should be aware of in selecting the therapist?"

"No, I've been raised Jewish but I'm an atheist." You listen to what you are saying with surprise. You suddenly remember House's mocking face when you met him while going to temple with your (third) in-laws, kippah on your head, and you realize that your heart has embraced the (non)beliefs of the man you love without you even noticing. You somehow manage to avoid crying. You wonder whether it's wise.

* * *

The sex therapist, Dr Arlene Grahams, is young, tall, fat and very black. She's also a lesbian, and looks like she has faced discrimination from every possible side and has always won. But not without a fight.

She starts by reassuring you; nowadays kids know much more about such issues, but for your generation it is not uncommon to stay oblivious of one's true orientation until later in life. Especially for bisexuals.

She follows with a brief course on sex expression. She patiently explains to you that not all gay men like anal sex, and not all men who like anal sex (in either sense of it) are gay. She discusses positions and techniques. She mentions gay bars and STDs, the proper way to lube and how bad crystal meth really is.

After a short pause, she even mentions that you should come back and talk to her in case you plan to have sex with a disabled person; depending on the specific disability, there are a number of efficient techniques to use. She seems unsurprised when you start crying and just hands you tissues. She asks no questions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note**: This a revised version. Any merit you find in this is due to my totally awesome beta reader **yarroway. **

Following someone through therapy is no fun. But you can't always get what you want. I feel what happens afterward was only possible because of the work Wilson has done on understanding and accepting himself.

* * *

"Welcome back. Did you have to move many appointments around?"

"No, I've now blocked the 2-3 slot on MWF. It was only difficult at the beginning. I work a bit longer in the evening, which is good because I don't really want to go home."

"Where would you want to go?"

"Well, I actually like my condo a lot. But I miss House so desperately all the time. Just looking at the organ in the living room is sometimes enough to make me cry. Not to mention the safety appliances in the bathroom."

"Is this primarilly a sexual feeling?"

"No, how could it be? I never... was close to him that way. " You can feel yourself blushing. Damn. "No, I was attracted by him physically when he lived with me. We would watch idiotic soap operas and I would be thinking of reaching out across the couch and holding his hand. But now I would just want to go home with him, to have it again as our home. As I thought it would be, before I stupidly threw him out."

"You mentioned that he also used to annoy you. Don't you think that feeling would come back if you were living together?"

You pause before you answer. You actually have to search for your real feelings which lie buried somewhere deep. "House is House. I would be happy to do the housework for both, it's not so much more than for one. I would even if he didn't have a handicap. Also, I'm neater than him, so I most likely would have to clean again if he cleans for me." You think a bit more. "House kept telling me I like to have needy people around me. I think it's true... if someone needs me maybe I'm less scared that they'll leave. Plus, I like being useful."

"Would you want to share a bed regularly?"

The question starts you thinking. Remembering. Remembering the nights where you would lie completely still, listening to the noise of House, going to bed much later than you, undressing and going to bed. Reading. Going to the toilet. And sometimes... sometimes... You open your eyes and try to answer halfway honestly. "Yes. My bedroom could become ours, and his could be turned into a home office. Maybe with time he could work a bit from home on bad days, like when there's snow or ice. He hardly sees patients anyway. And there he could keep all the mess he wants. And we could watch tv on the couch together. Sometimes when his leg really hurt he even allowed me to give him a massage. I could feel the warmth of his body." Tears start flowing again. "I had it so good, and then I went and threw him out for... for... Sam. Even if I knew he was worth ten times as much as all my ex-wives together. I almost made him kill himself to save Amber, and then I dumped him. And now I dumped him again. I don't deserve to be happy, ever."

What would you want from House? You're surprised and worried and frightened, but after lots of work and discussions you know: you would like a long-term, monogamous relationship, involving affection and sex. In other words, love and marriage.

Once you know this, the past makes much more sense. If you compare any of your ex-wives with House, none of them is a match. In fact, very few people are; a possible exception is Amber - your only relationship which you didn't personally screw up. You thought that this was due to lack of time, but apparently there was a deeper reason. You even remember discussing with both Amber and House how the two of them were in a sense very alike.

You wonder how stupid and blind you must have been. You wonder whether House knows more than you do about your own feelings, and you wonder about what his own feelings are.

* * *

"Lunch with you is a rare pleasure, Cuddy."

"Yeah, and also a very fast one" she answers, as you both eat your sandwiches on either side of her office desk. The door is closed. "So what's up with you?"

"What do you mean? Have there been complaints?" Your ears stand up. She basically commanded you to this meeting. You realize that she has an agenda.

"No, of course not. I've never had a complaint about you. But you're staying late every night. And you don't have lunch with House any more. You don't visit us, and as far as I understand you don't see anyone else."

"I expect you know I'm in therapy. I've been taking antidepressants for a long time and they don't work so well anymore. So I spend a lot of time doing therapy homework - writing journal entries and" you blush "occasional chunks of fiction." Maybe that's ll. She's just concerned about not seeing you. Not that she ever seemed to care so much, busy as she is with her boyfriend. Maybe you're just jealous.

"I guess being an oncologist takes its toll, and the breakup with Sam was painful. Something else worries me, though. I'm told that you have refused extremely evident passes by... let me see, a fourth year student, an hematology resident, and two nurses, one from ped and one from the ER. Oh yes, and the new pharmaceutics supplies accountant. You just stay in your office and work until late every night. What's up, James? That's not like you."

"You sure are aware of what goes on in this hospital." The ped nurse was two days ago. If there's anything faster than speed of light in the Universe, it's hospital gossip.

"It's my job. And you're Head of Oncology."

"Don't worry, Cuddy. I'll be fine. I'm just very busy with therapy and... after three divorces, Amber and Sam, I want to take it very slow on the relationship side for a while." You smile as you finish your coffeee and toss the empty cup. "Look, I'm following medical counsel. The day Dr Lassiter gives me the all clear I'll start again roaming the hallways of Princeton Plainsboro looking for sex." You close the sentence with your most seductive smile.

You hear Cuddy's soft laughter as you close the door behind you. And you shiver at the thought of what she would say if she knew what the real issue is.

* * *

The next batch of sessions is preliminary to coming out work. You and Dr Lassiter rehearse coming-out scenarios: discussing your sexuality with your parents, your (homophobic) brother, Cuddy, the oncology group, the hospital board.

You try and imagine the whispers in the corridors, the bets near the water cooler. This alternates with discussions on why this should (not) be an issue at all. How your self-respect doesn't depend on whom you want to sleep with, so long as it's consenting adults. How anybody who would criticize or ridicule you on such grounds would not humiliate you but themselves in the eyes of any thinking human.

It's long and ultimately exhausting work, but it's not really scary, seeing that no timeframe is introduced for the actual coming out. In fact, therapy these days really makes you feel better.

* * *

You're back at Dr Grahams' office.

"So you want me to do... homework? Sex homework?"

"I think now that we got rid of the psychological block you need to explore your sexual needs. And this is much easier alone than in a relationship or even a one-night stand. It's easier when there's only one person to please and no one to turn judgemental about it." She thinks briefly. "At least I hope there's not so much prejudice anymore in your own head."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"There are different ways this could go, and I suggest you explore them all and pursue what feels right. There's porn, of course, in order to show you what's possible. You will have to find out if you prefer the visual or the textual version or a bit of both. Textual tends to feel less threatening, visual works faster and has a stronger impact."

"What else?"

"This is not a spectator sport. Once you figure out which acts might please you, you want to try them. And to be able and try a lot on your own, you'll need props. Stand-ins for a prospective partner, or just simple toys to help appreciate all the possibilities of your body. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how to use toys hygienically - you're probably more fastidious than I am. Stick with silicone, glass and stainless steel so you can boil everything."

"Are you really a doctor? This is medicine?"

"You need to discover what your body wants, James. I can't do that for you. Most people do it before they go to college, but the combination of bisexuality and a sex education focusing on disgust for many sexual acts has worked against you. So now you have to make an effort."

"Where am I ever going to find all that stuff? I can't even walk in front one of those stores without hyperventilating."

She gives you a printout. "Here's a list with useful suggestions and websites. I'll also e-mail you a copy with links. You don't have to go anywhere and see any other human being when you do this. It will be difficult although" here she smiles mischieviously "ultimately fun. Or so I hope."

"Ok. I'll try. I'm so scared. Luckily House doesn't hang out at my place anymore, or once he finds this stuff I wouldn't hear the end of it."

"Why do you think that? Have you ever seen House mistreating a colleague because of their not being straight?"

"Well, actually no. Thirteen, sorry, Dr Hadley is bisexual, and while House might have made a joke or two he certainly respects her as much as everyone else."

"So he's showing tolerance and acceptance to her. Why shouldn't it be the same for you?"

"Because I'm a man! It's different! Two women together, it's sexy - two men together, it's disgusting and unsanitary."

"I think we called this projection and internalized homophobia in Psych 101."

You can't look at her in the face.

"I'm sorry. You're right, of course. I have interacted with GLBT colleagues at conferences and never worried about it. After all, sexual orientation of a doctor is irrelevant to the patient."

"So why all this bitterness and rage and refusal?"

"It comes from my childhood. My education."

"Keep talking to Dr Lassiter about it. It will be gone eventually."

"Thank you. I will."

"And do your exercises. I don't want to know which answers you find - that only concerns you and your future sexual partner or partners - but at least keep in touch to let me know if you can do this."

* * *

The next two weeks are intense. Dr Lassiter single-handedly unmounts most of the nonsensical constructions inside your brain. All the false implications, the prejudices, the dogmatic viewpoints. Stuff you learned before puberty or just after it.

It's a lot of work, and it may never be complete. But every step of the way makes you feel better, more secure about yourself. This involves a lot of work at home, too.

Lassiter writes you a request for reduced hours, and Cuddy cuts you two weeks of clinic duties without asking any questions, just a wish that therapy is helping.

Dr Grahams's homework is... interesting. To say the least. You think maybe House should give it a try. After so many weeks, you admit to yourself that celibacy (as in, not having sex with others) doesn't have to mean no sex at all. In fact, in due course of time your solo sex has reached levels of satisfaction comparable to the best paired sex in your past.

You don't know how to evaluate this. You discuss this, among much blushing, with Dr Grahams, who says that this is actually a normal result of the therapy and that couple sex with a cooperative partner will be even better. On her final appointment she has a present for you: a box with five different flavored condoms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note**: This a revised version. Any merit you find in this is due to my totally awesome beta reader **yarroway.  
**Topaz is a reference to DTWOF, for which I would happily write fanfics... if fanfiction had it in its list.

* * *

"So how were this week's sessions, James?"

"Useful, Dr. Lassiter. I'm really feeling good about this. I hadn't realized I was carrying so much baggage, and I sure feel lighter without it."

"Great. Do you feel ready for a first, concrete change?"

"Sure. What do you think? Go to a gay bar?"

"Actually, I had in mind something a bit closer to home."

As you listen you can't believe your ears. But he finally talks you into trying.

* * *

You look through the window - a canoe with two men in it is gliding on the river. They paddle lazily, going with the flow. The sun makes the water around the canoe shine in so many different colors.

"That was good." House puts down his cutlery on his empty dish.

"Indeed. It's nice to be out of the cafeteria."

"It was also a long time since we had lunch together. I've been so busy with Cuddy and the brat lately." House sounds almost apologetic.

"I've been pretty busy with therapy too, but now it's more or less finished. I'm down to once a week." So good to be with him again. You arranged this for today since Cuddy was busy with her yearly physical.

The waiter brings coffee and dessert. House takes a spoonful of his _panna cotta_ followed by a forkful of your cheesecake.

"Mmmm. So good. So you wanted to tell me about the highlights of therapy, just to gloat that your therapist is so much sexier than mine."

You can't delay this any longer. "Not exactly. It's more like he gave me homework to do." You're nervous and hope House won't notice.

"With me?" More cheesecake. So far he seems just bored. Or, rather, politely pretending to be interested.

"Well, I was free to choose any close friend. It turns out it was not such an ample choice." This of course is not true. Dr. Lassiter told you to talk to House. "Anyway, the idea is that I've discovered, or maybe just accepted, a few facts about myself, and since they're kind of important he said I should be able to share them."

"Are they related to the fact you're paying triple alimonies?" House knows that therapy was for relationship problems, after all.

It's time to take a plunge in the cold water. "Dr Lassiter thinks so. I'm bisexual, House. And I didn't find out the pleasant way, namely by getting insanely drunk in a gay bar and having the time of my life, but by realizing that I have had sentimental and sexual feelings for you over a period of years. What I would ideally like is to have you as my spouse. It is clear that none of my ex wives was right for me, if Gregory House's the gold standard." You gasp for air, and wait for his reaction.

"And my knowing this is supposed to be useful how?" The tone of voice is still that of polite disinterest, but his eyes have stopped roaming the room and are focused on yours.

"I can't remember the details. Dr Lassiter mentioned something about honesty and truth, but I followed only partially his argument and I'm sure you would have found it boring. The good news is that I'm not supposed to expect or demand any reaction from you. You may comment of course, but you don't have to. As far as I'm concerned, the topic is exhausted and our friendship can continue unchanged." Yes, you think. That's the correct end note. The word unchanged. No need to talk about this again. House looks pleased, too.

"So you told me this because the doctor told you to." He's looking back to the tablecloth. Apparently wants to be reassured it wasn't his best friend who decided to make him a love declaration.

"Yes. And because it's the truth. I'm such a good boy. Mommy's pride." You smile. It's over.

House opens his mouth to reply when your pager starts beeping.

"Sorry House, they need me in Radiology. It's not an emergency but it's urgent. I'll pay and meet you at the car." House seems almost relieved as he puts on his jacket and starts limping towards the parking lot.

As you pay, you wonder what could be so urgent as to page you, since they know that your lunch break will be over soon. Than you think of something, and you hope you're wrong. You forcefully remove the thought from your consciousness, as you sit in the car near your friend.

House has shown no sign of derision, nor does he looks upset; Dr Lassiter guessed his reaction better than you did. You both remain silent as you drive back to the hospital.

* * *

The pager beeping meant exactly what you thought, unfortunately. You feel nervous as you enter Cuddy's office two hours later, a thick blue folder in your hand. She's sitting behind her desk, House is in a visitor's chair, twirling his cane. They both look at you in a puzzled way.

You're experienced at giving bad news, but you never like it. "There's something I need to tell you."

House looks confused. "Is this the same we discussed at lunch?"

"Unfortunately, no. It concerns Cuddy, and you as her boyfriend. Cuddy, you have Hodgkin's lymphoma. It's an early stage so it would have an excellent chance of complete remission, but we need to discuss treatment options, and I thought House would want to be involved."

You hand him the file, which he starts going through as you resume speaking. This maybe doesn't follow patient confidentiality rules, but you're sure that House would have stolen Cuddy's file anyway.

Cuddy looks not so much worried as already planning. "Excellent means what? And how much time will I be unable to run the hospital during chemo and radiation?"

"Excellent means better than 95%, when one takes all variables into consideration. You will need chemotherapy, and this means you will have to find someone to replace you for many weeks - both at work and in Rachel's care. However, what you really need to choose soon is an oncologist. Ideally you should choose before this week is over." You're afraid she will ask you. You shouldn't be treating House's girlfriend. But you can't say that, either.

"Wilson, I promoted you to Head of Oncology because I trust you. It's a simple choice."

House lifts his head from the file: "Wait, Cuddy. Wouldn't it be better to go to a specialized cancer center? I mean, Wilson's fine, but... it's you. It's important."

"Believe me House, it's important to me as well. But what would people say if the Dean of Princeton Plainsboro chose not to trust her own Oncology Department in a completely routine case?"

House is stubborn. "Specialized Centers have better personnel."

"House, I know what I'm doing. Plus, if Wilson is not working in the nation's top cancer center it's not because he didn't receive an offer there. Wilson, could you please explain this to him?"

You feel your cheeks turning crimson. You received the letters at home, and put them in the home shredder. They arranged one meeting in person in an elegant restaurant in a luxury hotel 30 miles away, trying to lure you away. "How do you even know about their offer?"

"Offers, Wilson, plural. Three of them, of increasing generosity." She smiles with obvious satisfaction at knowing your secret. And maybe also at how good her Head Oncologist is. You sneak a look at House, and you immediately turn away your eyes: he's intensely looking at you, wondering whether you can possibly be as good as such an offer implies.

Cuddy finally reveals her source. "I met their Dean at a reception a few days after you finally convinced him not to ask again. He told me I must have offered you high quality sexual favors, since there was no way our budget would have allowed me to match their offer."

You gasp at the same time as House does, but you're the first one to speak. "High quality what?"

Cuddy looks smug. "I think the precise term he used was tittyfucks. He was quite drunk and very angry. By the way, congratulations for the offers and thanks for staying at Princeton-Plainsboro, Wilson. Feel free to consult every competent expert you think appropriate _and_ House, but _you _are my oncologist."

* * *

"I sure wish you could still be having lunch with Cuddy. But apart from that, it's nice to have you here eating my fries again." House smiles at you from the other side of your usual table while he carefully dips two fries in ketchup and eats them.

"It appears I'll have to share Cuddy's scarce free time with her family in the near future: Cuddy's sister moved in during the weekend." A pause, as his hand dips into your plate again. "With her husband and their six year old daughter. I thought one child was noisy, but that's nothing as compared to two children."

"How long is she staying?"

"Until the end of the final round of chemo. No precise deadline has been fixed. Some months." House sounds definitely irritated.

"That must make it crowded, right?"

"Cuddy had me move out last Friday. I never properly moved in with her to begin with, and now she needs room and able-blodied people who can help."

"It's only temporary. You know as much as I do that her chances are excellent." You don't even want to start thinking what would happen if Cuddy's case ends up in the less than five per cent that don't make it.

"I know. Still, it was weird being alone in my apartment."

You hope that you understood the meaning. House would never ask you to invite him. "Want to come have dinner at my place tonight? It's been an awfully long time, but I think I still remember how to cook boeuf bourguignon."

"Add beer and we'll see each other at 6."

"You can come then and there will be wine, but dinner won't be ready until 8. It's a slow recipe." You are ashamed of feeling happy about this conversation and its conclusion.

* * *

"That was good." House relaxes with a satisfied burp on your couch and starts looking for the remote.

"Yes. It's like the good old times. Lunch together every day, and that's the third time you had dinner here this week - and it's only Friday. Too bad I'll have to work the whole weekend to cover up for Cuddy."

"I'm sure happy that I'm not part of the team of Heads replacing her. Who is it anyway? You and Kilmer from Pediatrics and Donovan from Cardiology?" House is still clicking his way through the channels, trying to find something interesting.

"Yes. The unlucky ones. We're just helping the guy she hired as a temporary replacement for herself and it's killing me. I don't know how she manages, but this hospital needs her back to health as much as you and Rachel do. How's Cuddy doing? Do you find any time where you can be together?"

The television is switched on mute, the remote left lying on the couch. House closes his eyes briefly, as if in thought, then opens them again."Well, she's still micromanaging it all. She changed her niece's eating habits, and is now trying to get her sister to change her school as well. Very much her usual self, except with no makeup or hair. Tete-a-tete time on the other hand is very limited. She's very tired and sleeps more than she used to."

The blue eyes turn to look directly into yours. "Wilson, I was wondering whether I could move in with you again. "

"What?" You look at him in disbelief. He knows what he knows and he wants to move in again. Denial? What's going on?

"It's actually Cuddy's idea." He doesn't look at you anymore. "She says that I shouldn't be alone right now. I almost misdiagnosed my patient today because I slept so poorly the whole week. I spend the nights drinking and watching tv series reruns. She thinks you would take care of me better than I take care of myself."

"And what do you think? Maybe this is a good occasion to start thinking for yourself." You have only seconds to worry whether this was too nasty a statement. House doesn't even seem to notice it could be viewed as an insult.

For once, House seems to share your worries. "I'm not sure. Normally I would find it a very good idea - I might even have suggested it myself. But after what you told me... I'm not sure it's the right thing to do."

"You didn't tell her, right?"

"No. I figured out it was meant to be private. I actually tried not to think about it." House is torn. He clearly would prefer to move in, especially since this is what Cuddy wants. He looks at you, hoping that you'll help him with this.

You smile, and try hard to sound calm and relaxed. "Well, at least you can be sure I'll be happy to have you around. Move in again whenever you want. And I'll promise to behave like a gentleman: the change is in what I and you know, not in what we do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note**: This started appearing as non beta'ed on fanfiction. Any new merit you find in this is due to my totally awesome beta reader **yarroway**. Good news: no more psychotherapy! On the other hand, I think I overcompensated my fear of dialogues and included a bit too many.

* * *

"How was Cuddy today?"

"Better. You seem to have hit the correct cocktail of medications to fight off the side effects of chemo. Of course she's still tired but at least she's not vomiting anymore. She even seemed to have a little appetite yesterday evening." House looks hopeful. The treatments are working; Cuddy will be fine and he knows it.

"Good to hear that. It's great that at least on weekends you can spend your day with her. Did her sister manage to leave the two of you alone a bit?"

He sighs. "She tried, but it was impossible. Rachel wants to be with her mom all the time."

"Maybe not so surprising. Well, it will all go back to normal in a short time. And eventually Rachel will be more independent." You try to feel genuinely happy for him. You almost succeed.

"I hope so. It's noisy and unnerving at Cuddy's place now, with all these people around. How about you? What did you do with yourself?"

"I went running. For 15 miles. Can you believe it? Not that I'm back to the top form of my student years, but taking care of myself has really paid off. I've been running every day for weeks now." You stop suddenly, blush, pause and then decide to go on. Secrecy is overrated. "I hope you aren't disturbed by me saying this. I... I do know you would enjoy running as much as I do and you just can't."

Silence meets this last statement. House looks at you through his beer bottle, then he looks out of the window. He has the same concentrated expression on his face as when he's solving a medical puzzle. After what feels like a long time, he looks back at you.

"You stopped running regularly while you were helping me recover from the infarction, right?"

"Yes. It was a busy time. I did run again afterward."

"Occasionally. But you started training again only after you completed therapy. And yet it's an activity you always enjoyed and a healthy one too. Interesting."

House keeps looking at you while he sips his beer. You feel like he's reading into your thoughts.

"I got sidetracked and still haven't answered your question. No, I'm not bothered that you mentioned training. I'm glad one of us can still do that."

* * *

"Only ten days until Cuddy comes back to work. I'll miss having lunch with you every day, but otherwise I'm looking forward to it." Since Cuddy has been taken ill, you have been having lunch together almost every day. Which of course means that you have paid for House's lunch as many times.

"If you want to spend time with me while you can, we could do it next weekend" the sentence left hanging while two more of your French fries are stolen "as Cuddy is going to a big family reunion in Albany."

"Aren't you going along?" You had expected that the stalling of Cuddy's and House's relationship was only due to the lymphoma and that her recovery would make them grow closer again.

"Funny you would ask. She actually expected me to go." Two more fries. "She is quite annoyed at me."

"Come on, she just wants to show off her gorgeous boyfriend to the second and third cousins. Is it so bad?"

"Unlike you, I'm not a good boy and I'm definitely not going. I said I don't want to see her mother any more than necessary and she said she can't understand why."

You can't suppress a laughter at the recollection of Cuddy's mother. "If you really don't want to accompany her, why don't we just go for a motorcycle trip? We can stay at a hotel on the coast and eat unreasonable amounts of lobster."

"Maybe you aren't as much of a good boy as I thought. You do the booking and I'll have the motorcycle checked. It has been unused for too long."

* * *

Back from the restaurant, you're lying on your bed in the hotel room, with a beer bottle in your hand and a soap opera (with muted sound) running on the large HDTV screen. House is sprawled on his own bed, also with a beer.

"That was a great day and those were great lobsters."

"You obviously appreciated them. I think you should have applied to the Guinness' book of records in the lobster scarfing category."

"What are we up to tomorrow?"

"Depends what time you want to be back. Are you meeting Cuddy tomorrow evening? If so, then we should plan to leave directly after lunch."

"I don't think so. Did you hear what she told me on the phone today?"

"Uh, no I didn't."

"That's because she didn't call me. And I didn't call her either."

"I'm sorry, did I make you forget? Maybe taking this trip wasn't such a good idea."

"I actually find it was an excellent idea. Driving the motorcycle on these quiet highways is a very good way for me to think."

"So what did you think of?"

"Do you still... feel what you mentioned for me?" House's eyes look directly inside the beer bottle. Not that there's anything to see or drink in it any longer.

"Yes, I do. If there had been a change I would have told you."

"How much do you mind us being friends but nothing more, and Cuddy being my girlfriend? Wouldn't it hurt you less if we weren't so close to each other?"

"It's not what I would choose if I could, but seeing as you're not interested in me, I'm glad to see you in a relationship with someone you're attracted to. And I appreciate having you involved in my life as a friend. Most of the time, at least." You empty your own bottle. "Nothing has changed since you started dating Cuddy, in this respect."

"You aren't jealous?" You steal a glance at House, and you notice there's the faintest trace of color on his cheeks.

"There's nothing to be jealous about. Actually what I have for you is more like a crush then love. It's love only if it's returned, right? Mine is a decade-old, unrequited crush." You can't believe you just said that. "I just hope when you and Cuddy go back full time that you can make it work better - it seems to me that your relationship has involved a bit too much power play so far. But I'm certainly the last person who should be giving relationship advice."

"You have a point there." House gulps down the last painkiller of the day, switches off the tv and the light near his bed. "I'm in no hurry to go back to Princeton, so we'll have a lot of time tomorrow. You know what we could do? Go and have a long walk on the beach by the ocean. I haven't been to the beach in ages."

"You want to go for... a walk?"

"We can bring beach towels and sandwiches and beer and when I'm tired we lie down and have a picnic. Just because I'm a cripple doesn't mean that the outside world stops existing. I haven't had a picnic on the beach since before the infarction. It's something I used to do once every summer. It's high time to revive the tradition."

Soon the lights are out. As you lie there in the dark, eyes open, you listen to House's breathing and notice that he's not sleeping, either.

* * *

You've been cooking the whole afternoon. House has spent the day with Cuddy, but he has asked you to prepare his favorite dishes for dinner on his last Saturday as your guest. In two days Cuddy will resume work, and all your lives will slowly go back to normal - which for House will mean a series of healthy lunches and dinners. And eventually, you suspect, a wedding and a second-parent adoption. Cuddy's sister is staying a few more weeks to ease the transition, but House will be moving out of the condo on Monday, probably at Cuddy's request.

"Is the cholesterol orgy ready to begin?"

The familiar voice takes you by surprise. You were so busy with the oven you didn't hear him come in.

"Sure, let me just drain the pasta immediately so that we get a proper amatriciana al dente and not a glob of goo."

One hour and (at a rough estimate) 2500 calories later, of which 60 per cent came from fat and 20 from alcohol, you're both sitting at opposite ends of the living room sofa, in a celebratory mood.

"To another success for the Oncology Wonder Boy! The healing of the Dean of Medicine!"

"That really anybody could have done. I just followed protocols. And luckily, so did Cuddy's cancer."

"Yeah." House lets out something that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. "Too bad Cuddy's boyfriend didn't, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I am not sure I know, exactly. These weeks have been so pleasant and relaxing. Maybe it was the not having to dress and eat in a particular way. Or maybe it was the general feeling of having a free will again, instead of being under remote control. Sex with Cuddy is great but... being in a relationship with her sucks." The bottle is now empty. "I think I should tell you that I broke up with her this afternoon. Just so as to avoid you any embarrassment next Monday at the back to work party."

"House... well I guess you did think about it, right? It's not a spur of the moment decision?"

"I've been thinking long and hard, believe me. Wouldn't you before you broke up with your boss? And there's something else I have thought of. Can I keep living here? Having to admit defeat on our relationship is hard, and I would find it depressing to be home alone." He looks at you. "Actually, in this Cuddy was right. You do take care of me better than I take care of myself."

"Sure. As far as I'm concerned you can stay indefinitely. Only..." You can almost hear your heart skip a beat "... I was going to ask you not to bring in girlfriends. But I realized that wouldn't make sense: you will eventually want to start having a personal life again."

"Let's meet halfway: no girlfriends for either of us for the first month, and then we discuss the issue again. It might very well be that at that point I'll be ready to move back to my own place."

"Fair enough."

House looks at you again. "But I can call Brandy if I really need a massage, right?"

You smile back, happy to feel that in this respect you love House more than Cuddy ever did. "Sure. Medically motivated interventions are always allowed."


	6. Chapter 6

If this were the kind of stuff I usually write, my beta reader **yarroway** would be listed as coauthor: not only were my grammar and English usage corrected, but a fine-tuned ear helped me when I got my characters wrong. A key scene was substantially rewritten.

**PS** yarroway disagreed on the co-authorship issue, but the point is that in my field you really get people listed as coauthors for much less than she did.

* * *

It's Monday morning, and the big "Welcome Back Boss" party is going on in full force. The ER patients are mildly puzzled by the balloons but they enjoy the free sodas and snacks. Everybody else knows what's being celebrated: Cuddy's back to work. All over the hospital toasts are being made. And at 9 am everything stops and she is officially reinstalled as Dean of Medicine.

She gives a moving speech about her fight with cancer and her aims for the next fiscal year. The auditorium is full, with people standing in the aisles well beyond what safely regulations will allow; at the end of her speech there's a five-minute standing ovation. She doesn't forget you either, and a short round of applause goes to "the doctor who saved my life so that I can keep bothering you all".

* * *

You don't have lunch in the cafeteria; there's a small celebratory reception in a nearby restaurant. There's delicious food and champagne and nobody feels guilty about taking two hours off. Even Cuddy doesn't seem to mind the idea that none of her Department Heads are at work in the moment.

Actually, one of them is there. After a short phone call from the men's bathroom you now know that House is spending the whole day in his office, working. He wasn't there in the auditorium either, and he hasn't tasted any of the free food available in every corridor.

* * *

When you go back to Oncology at 2 pm the general mood is one of happiness, enthusiasm and optimism, something very rare in those corridors; they're proud of Cuddy being healed and prouder of the fact she trusted her own people to cure her.

Both on your Oncology rounds and as you later do your clinic hours, you overhear scraps of conversation among nurses. House's absence at the party has been noticed and discussed. It is only later, while you drive home, that you realize that this was the easiest way for him to communicate to the whole hospital that they're not a couple any longer.

* * *

When you arrive home on the table there are several cartons of Chinese takeout, untouched. And six empty beer bottles. And House's forehead over his arms.

He finally straightens up and looks at you with bloodshot eyes, while you warm up dinner in the microwave and open you own beer. "How was the speech? And the lunch?"

"It went well, but it's good you didn't show up - you would have found it soppily emotional. How about you? Did you eat anything at all today?"

"I had two packs of potato chips. And one whisky." House swallows an ibuprofen, obviously not the first one this evening. "One very large whisky."

"Still sure you made the right decision? You look horrible."

"That's because I worked all day." House stands up. "No, I did the right thing. I'm just feeling sorry for Cuddy. Because I didn't lie to her but I didn't tell her the truth either. And I'm sorry for Rachel. I even feel sorry for Lucas, can you believe it?"

House goes to the organ and starts playing. It's clear he doesn't want to talk anymore today. You pull out a bunch of files and pretend to work, while you listen to the stream of sad music.

* * *

You're relaxing on the couch, the tv on mute, your feet up. Life has been good this week: no patient died for a record two consecutive days, and no child for a whole week. And after five weeks sharing home with House has become a pleasant habit. It's like Sam and Cuddy never happened. You sigh and wish this could go on indefinitely.

The door opens and you can hear House walking in. "How come I can smell no dinner? It's 7 pm already, you slacker!"

"You must have been very busy with your patient, House, if you forgot the day of the week. It's Thursday isn't it? Pizza and movie night."

"I had forgotten indeed. Why don't you order the pizza while I have a shower? I did have a long day today - and it even was lupus in the end! Unbelievable."

About thirty minutes later, you pay the pizza delivery at the moment when House walks into the living room with damp tousled hair, dressed in a rock band t-shirt, jeans and a mischievious grin. He has a small pile of DVD's in his hand.

"I see you already selected what we're going to watch tonight."

"I'm in the mood for porn. Not the usual L word, the real thing. Do you mind that I got yours? I haven't watched any of it for a long time."

Both of you know that "long time" is code for "before Sam and Cuddy" but there's no need to say this aloud. You don't even bother voicing a complaint about him helping himself to your own stuff, you just sit down and start eating the pizza. "Sure we can share mine. Let me see what you chose." Idly, you grab the first DVD from the top of the pile, and you almost choke on an anchovy. "Where did you get these?"

"Can we skip the rethorical questions, please? You know precisely where I got them. Third dresser drawer, right, below the formal shirts. You know I'm good at snooping." House smiles at you, and keeps talking in what should be a reassuring tone. "Don't worry, I was careful and you won't need to iron the shirts again. I also boiled and disinfected all of your toys after trying them."

"You did what?"

"Relax, that was a joke, I only looked at them. Although some were definitely tempting."

House takes advantage of your momentary speechlessness and keeps talking.

"Look, we've watched porn together a million times, and it was usually mine. Can't we watch yours for once?"

"Ok, but only after we're done with the pizza and move to the couch."

"Deal."

* * *

"House, we've already seen two of them. You don't... don't really have to watch a third. I'm bisexual, right? I still like straight porn as well. We can still watch mine, you know well enough where it is."

"The key part of the above sentence being, of course, as well. Which means you also like this porn, and no wonder. It seems to be really high quality." House voice sounds relaxed and faintly amused. You wonder if he's just trying to embarrass you.

"House, don't tease me." Your sexual orientation hasn't been mentioned or even alluded to since what you both remember as the Lobster Road Trip.

"Who's teasing? I'm just interested. Look and learn, you never know what might come in handy. I also think that guy on the right looks a bit like Chase."

"I have never seen Chase undressed but I can't imagine he's even vaguely similar. In his third leg, that is."

"Great to hear you haven't lost your sense of humor. Or proportion. Now be quiet and pay attention, or you'll miss the plot points."

"Does this even have a plot? It's even worse than the others." You sip your beer. You wonder whether House can see your arousal and you regret the softness of the cloth of your slacks. At least there's not so much light and House is sitting far from you. "Come to think of it, I don't seem to remember this movie at all."

"That would be because this particular DVD is mine. Mom taught me to share."

Your eyes leave the screen, despite there being a lot going on there at this very moment, and focus on House's relaxed body, slouched on the couch as usual. "Why would you own gay porn?"

"Mmmh... because I'm in the closet. Or because, once you told me what the situation was, I tried to educate myself about the possibilities. I think I bought this the day after you diagnosed Cuddy."

"You mean, the day after I... told you?"

"Yes. I used to bat for both teams when I was in college. Then I felt more driven to women and... well, I wasn't so interested in relationships anyway. On the Kinsey scale I would be a 2, I guess."

You didn't even know that House knew what the Kinsey scale was. You look at him with what you suspect is an extremely stupid expression, while your brain tries to figure out the possible implications of what House is saying.

"Wilson." His voice is little more than a whisper. He has switched off the DVD player. The room is dim and quiet. House hasn't moved, but his eyes stare directly into yours. "Wilson, I... I care for you a lot."

"Are you serious?" You wonder whether this is a dream. If so, then you don't want to wake up.

"I already knew I wanted to do this when I broke up with Cuddy." House looks like he knows he has to say something, but words are hard to find. "I... thought long. We might try."

"House, you must know that I never..." here you can't go on. You blush furiously, stammer, and hide your face in your hands. You try very hard not to cry, and surprisingly succeed. You manage to lift your face again.

House pauses and thinks. His next words come out hesitantly, as if he were trying to approach a wild animal without scaring it away. "We should take it easy, not try too much in one go." Another pause. "This way, we can stop if anything feels wrong." He hasn't moved yet. He's looking at you, checking your reaction to his words. Trying to read in your face what you need to hear now.

"I'm scared." You think you said it, but House has. "I don't want to lose our friendship."

"Me neither." You smile at him. "I never even allowed myself to dream this could happen."

"I... I had imagined the first time I kissed you we would be standing." He grabs his cane and stands up, leaning against the wall. "Maybe not my smartest idea." You stand up as well. Your steps towards him are an acknowledgement of the distance you both have had to go to reach each other.

The first kiss is very tentative, just lips meeting and the warmth of House's body against yours, his left hand on the small of your back, both of yours behind his neck, your fingers playing with the greying curls. You wonder what feels so physically different from all other kisses in your life, until you suddenly realize that it is the first time you kiss someone taller than yourself and significantly more muscular.

Then you close your eyes, open your lips, and feel stubble on your face and a pulsating warmth enters your mouth and radiates into your whole body. Time is forgotten.

* * *

"I'm so embarrassed, this hasn't happened to me since my early teens." Except your girlfriend then didn't know enough about the male body to realize precisely what was going on, while House obviously does.

"Not to worry. Just go have a shower and put on your pajamas. At least I know you do like me and you're young at heart. And elsewhere." House is smiling so much it's hard to recognize him.

From the shower you can hear House opening his closet and chest of drawers. For a moment you're terrified he has changed his mind and is going to leave. As you get out from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, you see him with his duffel bag. "What's happening?"

"I'm moving a few things of mine to your bedroom. Our bedroom. I always thought that's the more comfortable bed anyway, so I'll want to keep it in the divorce proceedings."

Thirty minutes and one makeout session later, luckily this time without embarrassing physical consequences, you drift off to sleep in House's arms.

* * *

The next afternoon your office door is not entirely closed, and you can hear Chase, Taub and Foreman talking in the corridor.

"What do you think happened to House?"

"What do you mean? He seemed fine today."

"He seemed too fine. He arrived early and he was whistling. I don't know what but it sounded cheerful. And when we did the DDX he occasionally looked out of the window and smiled for no reason whatsoever."

"Maybe he has a new girlfriend. Must be good after Cuddy."

"Definitely time for a new betting pool. Chase, are you organizing it again?"

"Of course. But we'd better hurry. He looks so happy I'm sure we'll find out who she is within a week or two."

**Author's note**: I obviously like suffering more than happiness. This was so hard to write.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note**: This chapter has been incredibly hard to write. I trashed two previous versions (which were very different from this one and from each other) and even the final version underwent a number of substantial revisions. No words can adequately express my debt towards my beta reader **y****arroway** . Her contribution has been fundamental on the contents level.

* * *

You've been working in a slightly confused state the whole day, your attention divided between recollections from yesterday evening and wishes and fears for the coming evening. And the weekend. And the rest of your life. Both your lives.

At 5 pm you decide to call it a day, and stop in at Diagnostics' office. House is there with his team, desperately trying to figure out what his patient has before her liver gives up. It's unclear whether he will come home this evening at all. You propose to pick up some take out for all of them before you head home. House raises his eyes briefly and thanks you; the others look at each other in wonder at this unusual behavior. You're just glad they can't see the longing in his eyes.

* * *

You're woken up at 2 am by House sneaking into bed. It takes you two minutes to regain consciousness enough to realize why he's there. You hug him and he hugs you back. He mutters that he almost lost the patient, but finally a remark by Taub made him understand what the problem was and she's now going to get better. Soon House falls asleep, and you do the same.

* * *

"Should I expect macadamia nuts pancakes every Saturday and Sunday morning? I could get used to that." House walks into the living room at 9.30; you tiptoed out more than an hour ago to prepare breakfast. "Although I also like blueberry for a change."

"Sorry, I already booked us a brunch for tomorrow."

"This is really good." House licks his fingers after the last pancake, an operation you observe with undisguised fascination. "So what are we up to today?"

"I thought we would spend some time in bed." You blush, and look at House, who looks uncharacteristically relaxed. "That is, unless you changed your mind."

"I didn't and I'm not going to. By the way, the reason you're feeling so hot is that I've cranked up the heating. I think we should get out of our clothes now and put them on again tomorrow when we go out for brunch."

You pour yourself one more cup of coffee. "House, we're not twenty anymore. The whole day?"

House smiles mischievously. "I want to take this really slow. I want to learn to know your body as well as I know your heart."

* * *

You begin with a purely sensual exploration. Looking and touching and smelling and tasting. Your fingers go through thinning hair, glide over the trained, taut muscles on the neck and the shoulders, down the strong back, the fuzz-covered buttocks and then the asymmetric thighs and legs, your hand barely touching the wounded right one. Your hands play with his feet, marveling at how young and soft they feel (maybe wearing expensive trainers is a healthy thing to do). And then you climb up again, your hands sliding on the outside of legs and thighs so as to avoid both the scar and the genital area, and reconnecting on the belly, following the thin hairline up to the chest, and there opening up and covering the chest muscles, a small, hard nipple at the center of each of your palms, your fingertips caressing the collarbones.

Then you relax and give your lover's hands time to also get to slowly know you; he marvels at the softness of your skin and seems unfazed by the inch of extra fat the last ten years have stored around your waist.

Finally, you ask wordlessly for permission to look at his scar and touch it. You know how shy he is about it. But he allows you: at your first touch he's very tense. The contrast between the actual scar and the nearby healthy skin is weird. You slowly start caressing near the scar; his breathing becomes more regular, and you try pressing a bit harder, like in a very soft massage. At first he tenses again, but then he relaxes and moves his leg a bit so as to give you more access. You keep pressing, increasing slightly and avoiding the scar. When you lift your head you notice that House has lifted himself on an elbow and is looking at what you're doing.

"Feels good?" you ask.

He whispers "You're not... disgusted?"

You resume what you're doing. "No."

Soon House gestures it's enough.

Your attention focuses slowly on each other's genitals. It is House that begins this, by gently introducing you to the only part of his anatomy (apart from the injured leg) that is functionally different from yours: you had somehow forgotten about the existence of foreskins, and at first you're worried that this will make oral sex even more awkward. Eventually you start playing with it, enjoying both the unusual feeling and House's obvious pleasure. For a very brief moment you even wish you had still a foreskin yourself.

Then, suddenly, House's head is between your legs, and your brain switches off. When you resurface all you want is to reciprocate. And it feels incredibly good. You smell and taste House. You caress. You lick. And then a frenzy takes you, and you try to gulp down everything at once, and gag; he gently pulls you back, warns you to take it easy, and suggests a more comfortable position. You follow his suggestion and you feel every moment of his pleasure as if it were yours.

Afterward, as you both lie near each other, your legs entwined with House's right one on top, you wonder how could you ever have thought that this would be strange, or wrong.

* * *

In the end you both get dressed for lunch. Shorts and t-shirt, since the heating is still very high. The delivery guy from the Thai restaurant eyes you suspiciously but doesn't make any comment.

At lunch, as by mutual consent, you don't talk about what has just happened. Instead, House explains in detail what precisely the problem was with his patient, and he even finds the time to call at the hospital and check that her recovery is going according to plan.

You share with him the story of the twelve year old boy to whom a desperate attempt at an experimental chemotherapy jas given a temporary remission. Maybe for some months only, but he can live a normal life again. House understands your happiness and your pain: as an oncologist, unfortunately, sometimes a little extra time and health is all your technical ability can offer your patients.

While you're finishing tidying up after lunch, House silently walks behind you; he leans the cane against the kitchen counter, and his strong arms hold you at the waist. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. You can also feel that despite not being teenagers anymore, you are both ready for sex again.

Suddenly, the decision to take everything very slow seems absurd and wrong. What are you waiting for? You've waited years already. You've been thinking and preparing for this moment for months, knowing, worrying and sometimes expecting that it might never happen, but you have done your part of the work and know precisely what you want.

And now it is time to tell House. You turn around, take him in your arms, give him a long, deep kiss. You motion you both to sit down on the couch, and kiss again. And then you move your mouth near his ear, because as sure as you are of what you now want to say, you know it will be hard enough to whisper it. You might not manage to say it out loud.

"I know we agreed to go slowly, but I can't wait anymore. I want to feel you inside me. I am frightened that I won't like it, or that it will hurt, but my fear will never go away until I try. And my desire is stronger than my fear." You move your face so as to look at him in the eyes; your voice regains its usual level. "If you also want to, of course."

House looks almost frightened. He turns his eyes away, and thinks. And then he starts speaking, still not looking at you. "Yes, I want to. I'm just as afraid as you are, though." He pauses, looking for words. He doesn't like words. "I haven't done this in a long time." His hands search yours, hold yours very tight.

There's something else you have to tell him. Now. "I... I never did anything of the kind. Ever." It's little more than a whisper. From the way House squeezes your hands, as if afraid you'll fall if he lets you go, you realize that he heard you.

There's a long pause, during which he still doesn't look at you. When he speaks again, his voice is almost inaudible; the words come out slowly. "Now I'm even more worried. I... I want to give you pleasure, not pain. But I don't know that I can do one without the other." Finally, he turns to look at you. His eyes are like a blue fire now, his voice strong and steady. "I want to feel you inside me, too."

* * *

"I didn't know this place existed." House is obviously impressed. Your brunch reservation is in a hotel suite. The table where you're sitting faces a bow window, which looks out on an enclosed small garden full of flowers surrounding a pond. Side tables are covered with food and drinks, and a telephone is there to order anything you want freshly cooked. Behind the half-open doors one can see a king size bed.

"I actually saw it with Julie, while researching for places for our wedding. It's usually rented for honeymoon couples." You maybe should be embarrassed, but you're not. "Anyway, I chose it because I think we have a lot to talk about, and it seemed better to do so in private, but on... neutral ground."

"Is there so much to say? Unless you've been very convincingly faking, I think there are no doubts that the sex part of our relationship is going to work."

"Oh, yes. Almost too much." You smile, and House can't refrain from laughing.

"Are you sore?" he asks.

"A little bit. But then again, not really. It's just like my body has discovered an emptiness of which it was not aware. A gap. A space which yearns to be filled. A space for you, within me. Like my body can't forget what we did any more than my brain can."

"Sounds good." House's eyes focus on you. He stares at you for what seems like eternity, but is probably a minute. "You're right, we have to talk. I owe this to you and to your courage and honesty."

And then it's like a dam has broken. He keeps talking, holding your right hand with his left as if to steady himself, to get from inside you the strength he needs to express his feelings. His eyes are focused on something outside the window. Maybe on nothing. You understand that now it's time for you to listen.

"When you told me you had no experience whatsoever I almost freaked out. I feared that the combined pressure of you being in love with me for so long, our friendship, and your virginity would be too much for you to enjoy this as you should. I was, and am, desperately afraid of hurting you."

House's voice becomes quieter, like a faraway thunder. "And deeper yet, there was the fear whether I would be able to enjoy physical pleasure with you. I've had sex with women only for almost twenty years now. I didn't know if I could give you what you wanted, and I didn't know if I would like what you had to give me. And... I didn't want to pretend I liked it as much as I like it with women if I didn't."

His voice raises again, a recent anger clearly reverberating in it. "My relationship with Cuddy was built on lies. On me pretending to like being the way she wanted me to be. Not in bed, that was never the problem, but in every other moment of my life. And to keep her happy I would lie to her, and lie to myself. Or, more often, just keep my mouth shout. But silence can be a lie, too."

"I... I don't want to lie to you. Ever. We are together because you had the strength to tell me the truth. When we were spending time together during Cuddy's recovery, I slowly noticed that with you I never had to lie. Not even by being silent. I got used to a relationship based on truth. I didn't want to go back to silence and lies."

House is silent, still not looking at you. You manage to get a glimpse of his face. He looks exhausted and satisfied. As if he had set up for himself a difficult chore, and it is now complete. He slowly turns around to face you. His hands are shaking in yours.

The doorbell rings. "Come in!" The food you ordered has arrived, and you start eating.

* * *

The red glow of the afternoon fills the bedroom. All your physical appetites sated, you're relaxing, enjoying the still unfamiliar feel of your naked skins in close contact, sharing a common warmth under the blanket. Music comes out of House's iPod via the room's amplifier system. You've been silent for a while, your head on House's left shoulder, the fingers of his right hand playing with your hair. There's something you don't want to ask. But you need to. You collect your strength.

"House... I know it's early to ask, but where are we going? What kind of relationship do you want us to have?"

A pause follows. Then House surprises you by quoting your own words back to you. "Many months ago you said you wanted me as a spouse. Maybe you can explain a bit more."

"I want a commitment. From both of us. A bond for a long time. For life."

"What else do you want? A wedding? A house with a picket fence, a dog and 2.5 children?"

"Not unless you absolutely want that. I think I'll be happy with you alone." You pass your fingers over the bridge of your nose. "I'm frightened. None of my marriages worked. And I seem to be unable to stay faithful."

House turns your head delicately, so that you face each other, and stares at you. All you can see is the shining blue of his eyes. "I want the same you want. I wouldn't have risked our friendship for a few tumbles in bed. I... I will need to trust you. By that I don't mean you can't physically want another person or be with them."

You can't move your body, or your eyes. All your being is concentrated on what House is saying. He has obviously been thinking about this a lot. Maybe as much as you have. You listen.

"It means that our relationship is a given. The cornerstone. The pivot of our lives. If there's someone else you want to spend time with, watching movies or knitting scarves or having sex, fine. But this person, man or woman, must know that we're in a committed relationship. The center of our lives." Is it possible that his eyes are getting more blue?

"This is my proposal. This is how I want our relationship to be. And I don't want to hide, either. You didn't hide your wives and you won't hide me." He's panting slightly, as after a physical effort. "Do you think you could accept this?"

"I need to think about this. I'm not sure I can do it."

"Do you want to do it?"

"Yes! More than anything else. I'm just afraid I will fail."

"Let's take this one step at a time. Let's try it."

* * *

**Author's note**: That was exhausting. I have to repeat my infinite gratitude to my amazing beta reader **yarroway**.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note**: To my beta reader **yarroway, **the miracle worker, my deepest thanks. Dear readers, you don't know how much better this chapter is than what it was before. But I know, and yarroway does. Thank you.

* * *

You slowly wake up. It's 6.30: like most mornings, you're early enough to switch the alarm off so that House can sleep. You enjoy the time you spend in bed, the warmth radiating from the sleeping body near yours, the early morning light sneaking in through the closed curtains, always accenting a different detail: the delicate nose, the high forehead, the narrow chin with its unruly collection of hair. You also like to think of your new daily routine together, including breakfast (you eat just before getting out, House as soon as he wakes up), lunch and, when work duties allow, dinners and evenings and weekends.

You still haven't told anybody, apart from the brief interview at HR. You can still remember the very surprised face of the clerk who, a month after he had collected signatures testifying the end of House's and Cuddy's relationship, officially put on record the beginning of your own. But the uncertainty and fear that had accompanied the beginning of your love is vanishing fast. Every day as it passes strengthens your faith in each other and in the strength of your love.

Another look at the watch. It's 6.50. Your lips barely touch House's sleeping forehead, and then you get out of bed. A new day starts.

* * *

You have lunch together every day, always at the same table.

"Tonight I'm taking you out on a date. Get home early and make yourself look good. We have a table for two at French Connection at seven." You look at House, and hope that he will not take amiss the "make yourself look good" part. The restaurant doesn't have a formal dress code, but still...

"Is this a joke? It's one of the most expensive restaurants in this area!"

"You'll have to be extra sweet to me afterwards, then."

For a moment you wonder whether anyone else can hear you. Then you ask yourself why would you care whether they hear you or not.

* * *

At seven sharp you both get out of the cab in front of the restaurant. House is elegantly dressed, although without a tie. You like him in his everyday clothes, but his tall, fit proportions are definitely more visible when better dressed. You feel so lucky, and then you feel a bit shallow for liking his body so much. And then you don't care, because you know you like all of House, not just the body but also not just the unique brain. Either half wouldn't be enough.

"So, what was I supposed to talk about now? Remind me... shoes, earrings, DHA?" he asks, once the waiter leaves.

You can't help laughing. House still remembers your advice.

"At least it's not the same restaurant where I proposed to you."

This time it's House's turn to laugh. But then his face becomes serious.

"You know, I wish I had known then what I know now. It's not like I hadn't had moments of suspicion, mind you. When you bought me the organ I couldn't believe my eyes. But you were sending such mixed signals."

You try to explain. "I was trying to deceive myself, not just you. I had to overcome a lot of hurdles to accept the truth. And when I finally talked to you I was terribly scared."

"Why? What were you afraid of?"

At that time, you weren't even able to put in words your fear. "That you would be disgusted. That we wouldn't be friends anymore."

"You were very wrong. First of all, even if I were straight, I wouldn't be homophobic. And there's nothing wrong with same sex attraction, even if unreturned." House sips his wine and nibbles the hors d'oeuvre. "And secondly, you are my friend. You accept me the way I am, without needing changes. And I do the same for you." One more sip.

House has learned a lot about expressing his feelings verbally. You know that he has had to change something deep in himself to trust you with so many words, and you feel that it is one of the deeper signs of his love.

He goes on talking. "As I thought about what you said, my main feeling was guilt. Guilt for not noticing before, and fear that by doing so I had involuntarily hurt you in the past. And of course, sadness because I couldn't return your feelings. Because I was committed to Cuddy. It was in the course of the next few days, or maybe weeks, that a small voice started whispering in my ear 'Had you known before making a commitment...' but by then it was too late."

"House, speaking of commitment, there's another thing I'm still concerned about. We both want a committed relationship, and I'm worried I will fail. I mean, my track record is not so good." You are ashamed of yourself. But you have decided there will be no lies in this relationship, so you can't tell House it will never happen. You hope it won't and you know it won't happen soon, but ever? You can't say.

"As I told you, sexual exclusivity is overrated. I mean, so long as it works for both of us, fine, but I'd much rather that you have a sex partner that's not me than have you be unhappy. As long as the partner knows that you're committed to me, that is." You know he already told you that. You still can't fully believe it. And yet you also know that the same is true for you, that his happiness is yours, and that if he were to need someone else in his life, for a night or forever, you would accept it, and accept it willingly.

"Actually, Wilson, I might not even being averse to an occasional threesome. With a man or a woman, as you prefer. But only if you want it, too." The blue eyes sparkle in the candlelight: you can't tell whether he's joking or not. Maybe he isn't. But his tone turns to serious again, and he looks in your eyes as he continues speaking. "The important thing is that we stay honest with each other and that our relationship comes before everything else." He has a sip of champagne. "Of course this is rather moot, since I haven't met anyone more attractive than you in the past fifty years and I don't see why this should happen in the next fifty."

"House... I would be falling in love with you now if I hadn't already."

* * *

The main course is paté de fois gras for you and escargots for House. Your conversation stops while the food is served, and then you're both distracted by the food. This time you both sample each other's entrée. When the plates start to get empty at the same time as the Bordeaux bottle House has a different, important topic to discuss with you.

"So, when do we plan to come out?" House has never been one to keep secrets, and he has no interest in hiding his happiness.

"You're right. It's time." You wish you were as relaxed about this as he is.

"Yes. And there's one person who definitely has the right to hear this directly from us, before anybody else."

House's face is almost in pain.

"Cuddy." You have been worried about this almost since day one. And House is right: she has the right to be told first.

"I don't know how I'll be able to do it." He's so sad it hurts you.

"I will talk to her. I've been her friend for a long time." You almost regret your words, but you know it's the right thing to do. It will be painful enough this way.

House sips his wine meditatively. "And then there's our families. What do you think? Should we phone or visit? At least no introduction will be necessary."

You think of your parents. Their deep homophobia which hasn't changed since your adolescence, and has been transmitted to your older brother. "You're right, we will have to tell our families. I only hope Blythe will take it well, because I'm sure no Wilson will." You sound sad and despondent to your own ears.

"I'm sorry about that." House really seems concerned. "I will be there for you when we tell." The blue eyes seem to look directly inside your thoughts. "I can't become a woman, but I'm willing to have a religious ceremony if you think it helps."

Even in your desperation you appreciate this most generous gift. "Religion is not the point. They've seen me married in a church, and they knew Amber and I were considering a secular ceremony. The problem is the one fact you can't change."

You add, as you try to explain, "I visit them regularly and I know what their opinion is in this matter. A cousin of mine has been kicked out of the family for being a lesbian. They talk of her like she were dead." You toy with the fork, then with the salt shaker. "The day I tell them will most likely be the last day I see them."

He tries to comfort you. "You can never be sure. Maybe they'll come around. It has happened to others, you know." Looking at him across the table, you can see he's hurt, and you nod. He knows how much closer to your family you are than he to his. He knows how much you dread losing this connection. But it can't be helped, unless...

As usual, House seems to read your thoughts. "I'm sorry about your parents, but I don't want to be in the closet. I love you and I don't care who knows that."

Suddenly the fear of losing your parents becomes a secondary issue. "House, you... you said it. I've been tiptoeing around the word love for weeks. Because..." You can't continue; the real because is that somewhere, very deep inside you, there is a last walled chamber, carefully preserving the word love as the exclusive property of heterosexual couples.

"So what? I love you indeed, and I know you love me too. It's a wonderful feeling." House takes the walls of that chamber and makes them crumble down. Not even dust is left, just a sunny, empty peaceful space. Full of happiness. Full of love.

The room seems to swim a bit around you. You reach out for House's hand and hold it as if you were drowning.

* * *

In the cab that brings you home, you chatter freely, your mood restored.

"And then we have to tell everybody else at the hospital." House smiles. "Maybe we should rig the betting pool first."

"What do you mean?"

"Chase is running a betting pool on who my new girlfriend is supposed to be. Maybe we should arrange for a trustworthy third person to bet heavily on you and split the proceedings."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Chase has already asked me to rig the pool, of course." House's smile is so beautiful it takes your breath away. This is the man you love. And there's nothing wrong with it, and you don't care who knows it. Not anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note**: This is the last installment. I'm not good at endings. Again and again, profuse thanks to my wonderful beta reader **yarroway**. She made this fic the best it could possibly be. She helped me find my own voice.

* * *

You move the chair for her, glad that she found the time for lunch with you in her busy schedule.

"We have to make it short. I have to meet a donor - at least I hope he'll be a donor - at 2pm sharp. Start talking."

"Lisa, I've started a new relationship. With a colleague."

"I'm impressed I hadn't heard. My PA tells me the top current betting is about when House will reveal he has a new girlfriend; he's apparently unnaturally happy. Anyway, sorry for thinking about my ex. So, how did you keep it secret?"

"We've been very careful. We did fill in forms at HR, and apparently they take the confidentiality clause seriously."

"You filled in the forms? That seems to suggest that it's long term, right?"

"I think so. I know I have a bad track record, but this time I'm going the distance."

"So who's the lucky woman? Doctor, nurse or admin?"

You take Lisa's hand in yours. She looks surprised, but before she can say anything you answer: "Gregory House."

She pulls her hand back very fast. "You must be crazy. What is this, a prank?"

"No, Lisa. It's the truth. That's why I'm telling you. House figured out you wouldn't believe it if he told you."

"I don't believe it when you tell it either. What's this supposed to mean? You're neither of you gay! You've been friends for decades!"

"Actually, I am bisexual and so is House. It just took us very long to realize that we could have a relationship beyond friendship."

"How long has this been going on, supposedly?"

"The relationship, not so long. A couple of weeks. But I've known for months that I'm in love with House."

"So he left me for you. I can't believe it."

"Lisa, I didn't take him away. He chose to end it."

"Oh yes? Or did you woo him while I was sick? My oncologist took the opportunity of my illness to seduce my boyfriend? You're disgusting, James."

"Lisa, believe me, I'm your friend. I didn't do that. I never tried to take him away from you."

"You were my friend. And don't think either of you has made any favor to your career either. I'm still your boss. Excuse me but I have to go back to work."

She gets up, puts on her jacket, and her three-inches-heels start ticketing on the restaurant's floor towards the exit.

"Lisa." She stops and turns her head to look at you. She's still near enough that you don't need to raise your voice. You feel like a tiger baring his teeth to an enemy. "Before you try to sack me, or try to retaliate using your position as my boss, you should know that I taped this conversation. And in the name of our past friendship, I will never make House listen to it. Unless he has to do so in court."

She nods, and walks away. You knew you were going to hurt her, but you didn't know how much. You feel guilty, not because of House leaving her but because you suspect he might not have started dating her at all if you hadn't encouraged him so much. Your only solace is the knowledge that you had this conversation so that House doesn't have to.

* * *

"So Blythe, can I tempt you with one more slice before I go to the kitchen and try to achieve a semblance of order?"

"No, thank you James, but it was delicious. It was good of you to invite me to Thanksgiving dinner."

From the kitchen the voices sound slightly muffled, but you can still follow the conversation. You're a bit anxious.

"Now I think I'll call a cab and go back to my hotel. Are you leaving with me, Greg?"

"Actually, mum, I'm not going anywhere. I live here now."

"Oh yes, you told me you had moved in together when Lisa got sick. But isn't it about time that you go back to your own place?"

"Mom, in case this escaped your notice, James and I are together. As in, a couple. Partners. Boyfriends. Fiancés. We're in love. We fuck."

"Oh." The silence expands and you can hear your heart beating. "Well, this explains many things."

"Hope you're not too upset."

"No. I actually had vaguely wondered when I received the invitation. But I figured out you would tell me."

"I'm doing so."

"Well, I'm sure glad your father can't hear of this. He would have been most distressed." Another pause. "And yet, he should be thankful. You would never have made it to the funeral if James hadn't forced you, right?"

"That's for sure, mom. Should I call your cab now?"

"Sure. James! Can you come here?"

You go back to the living room, drying your hands on your apron.

"Thank you very much for the dinner, and congratulations. I had almost lost hope of seeing Greg happy, but better late than never. Take care of each other, won't you?"

Before leaving, Blythe kisses you both on the cheek.

* * *

You are not sure that it was a good idea to have House take part in your coming out dinner at your parents' place. At least it's just the two of them, without your homophobic brother, so you expect no violence.

But nevertheless, you're bothered that a large part of the scarce conversation was devoted to discussing the nuptial and reproductive activities of various members of the extended family. Luckily dinner is now over, and you'll soon be driving back home. Time to talk.

"Mom, dad, there's something you should know. Gregory and I are a couple. We live together and are considering getting married in the not-too distant future."

Your father wasn't paying attention enough, and apparently only got the last part of the sentence. "Married to whom?"

"To each other! He doesn't have a ring, but he's to all intents and purposes my fiancé." You squeeze House's hand under the table, and he squeezes back.

Your mother starts to cry silently. You can't hear sobs, but her cheeks get a deeper pink hue and become wet with tears.

Your father notices and becomes angry. "Why did you have to say that? You should be ashamed of yourself! First three divorces, who knows how many affairs and adulteries, and we kept hoping for the best, absurdly your mother kept hoping that her favorite son would do the right thing! And now you tell her in this cold-hearted way that you embrace the gay lifestyle!That she can never be proud of you again!"

"Dad, this is ridiculous. I'm not interested in having children and I don't think it's my duty to have any. And there's nothing disgusting or shameful in my love for Greg. Or his for me."

Your mother keeps crying, and now you can see her chest heaving with increasing sobs.

"You want to give her a heart attack? Out of here, both of you! And as far as I'm concerned, from today you're no longer my son!"

House helps you steady yourself as you quickly collect your jackets and finish dressing once already outside the door. When you're in front of the car, you collapse and cry in his arms for a long while. He holds you, your forehead against his shoulder, his left hand caressing your quivering shoulders while he gently kisses your hair. You stop abruptly when you realize his leg must be hurting like crazy. You climb in the car and drive away. Home.

* * *

It's December 21, and you're having breakfast. Yesterday evening you lighted the first candle of the menorah, and House has grudgingly agreed to hang stockings in front of the fireplace.

You already have bought lollipops to fill his up, together with a photo of the Wii you bought for him (which is currently hidden in the oncology nurses' coffee cupboard). You shouldn't be so excited about the holidays, but you are. Your first holidays as a family. The first of many.

"Are you listening, Wilson?"

"Oh, sorry. I was wondering what my Christmas present will be."

"You can start first thinking who will give you one, because I won't." House looks slightly embarrassed - is this really true? He keeps talking. "What I tried to say, in case you're finally listening, is that I've talked to my lawyer, and he thinks we should get a civil union. It's still not federally recognized, but it gives us a number of rights in New Jersey."

"Ok. Justice of the Peace?"

"Yes. I'm sorry but I don't want any official celebration. We can still have a party afterwards, if there's anyone who cares to attend, but I don't want anything even remotely similar to your previous weddings."

"It's your first and only occasion, so feel free to choose. I'm happy enough with having finally chosen the right spouse."

* * *

Everything is different this time. There's just the two of you, dressed in your everyday clothes (House's are unusually unwrinkled), in a very generic office in town. Blythe was unhappy when House told her she couldn't be there, but she had finally understood. House had called her, and explained that seeing her and missing your mother wouldn't make it a happy day for you.

Still, you think (as you look at your soon-to-be-husband, who seems handsomer than ever) it's a commitment. The last one, you tell yourself. If this doesn't work, or if House, as in all probability will be the case, dies before you, you're done. You will never meet anyone even vaguely like him, and you know it.

You smile a bit nervously as the Justice of the Peace, a middle-aged woman dressed like a bank clerk, reads you the relevant law articles.

Then it is House's turn to say yes, then it's yours.

And then you suddenly can't believe your ears: "You can exchange rings", she says.

House pulls out a small box, and opens it, and there are two plain golden bands and House takes the smaller one and he takes your hand and slips it around your finger, and as the blood buzzes in your ears you hear "I might very well regret doing this" and you notice that the ring fits perfectly.

And then you lift your eyes and you look in his face and you pick up the other ring and just say "I love you, too" because you can't think of anything else. And then he hugs you and you kiss.

The signatures take place in a dream. When you turn to go out you're so busy losing yourself into your husband's eyes that you barely notice the photographer's flashes.

* * *

It's 7.40am and you're sitting in the waiting room of the clinic drinking coffee, House's leg raised on a chair. You're wondering he's awake at all, since you've been busy in the hospital for a while already. At last the receptionist calls you with a smile - it's great you have good relationships with every single nurse you didn't have sex with (and a large percentage of those you did).

You and House start slowly approaching as Cuddy walks into the hospital with her usual, resolute step, and than stands stunned. Transfixed. Staring at the posters plastering every single wall or vertical surface, at eye's level:

_Gregory House and James Evan Wilson  
__proudly announce their civil union!_

followed by the photo (the best one, the same you have had framed and sent over to Blythe) and below "We will be celebrating with our friends on February, 26th at 7pm at home. RSVP".

As you approach she looks at you with an angry face, but before she starts shouting something breaks inside her. She tries to smile, but cannot. "Congratulations. Make sure you notify HR within 10 working days."

She manages to shake your hand, and she hugs House and kisses him lightly on the cheek. It's only as she turns towards her office that tears finally win against her makeup.

The best part of the day is the party organized by the Oncology nurses (you couldn't keep your mouth shut, but luckily they did) with the collaboration of the ducklings (the nurses didn't keep their mouth completely shut) in Oncology's lounge. There are even wedding presents, including a surprising large number of "Get out of one hour of clinic duty - I'll do it in your place" cards signed by colleagues. It's noisy and raucous and full of food and alcohol and laughter and goes on until Cuddy throws you all out - without animosity and one hour later than she should have.

Later, at home, you start yawning while massaging House's overstrained thigh; it has been a wonderful day but also a very long one. He sips a finger of goodnight bourbon, his fingers almost mechanically going through your hair, then descending along your neck and finally grabbing your shoulder. "Maybe I won't regret this after all."

* * *

**Author's note:** House and Wilson got married on February 13, 2012, because House hates Valentine's day.


End file.
